


The Red House

by RebelRebel



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crimson Peak vibes, F/M, Filming, Fluff, Ghosts, Gothic, Haunted Houses, Haunting, Italy, Modern Era, Romantic Fluff, Scary, Spooky, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-27 01:02:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21110117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelRebel/pseuds/RebelRebel
Summary: “Are you scared, Mr. Solo?” she asked. “I thought you didn’t think there was a ghost?”“Call me Ben,” he said. His dark eyes felt heavy on her skin. “And I don’t.”Rey stood again.“Dare you to prove me wrong.”





	The Red House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnightbluefox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightbluefox/gifts).

> **For the following two prompts:**
> 
> _\+ I’d love something where Rey and Ben end up in a haunted house, either through a dare or trying to show each other up, or maybe Ben is trying to impress Rey? Either way, they’re skeptical then discover that it’s actually haunted and get trapped. Can be fun or spooky, I’m down with darker or more lighthearted._
> 
> _\+ Ben is a lead in a scary movie and Rey is his personal assistant or one of the tech crew. They’re enemies but come together when they start to suspect that the set/movie might actually be haunted. Can really be haunted or a false alarm, up to you!_

Mist crept across the lake; a spit of black silk shrouded in the early morning gloom. The sun was still rising — a distant, blood orange lazing its way into the Italian sky.

It was the sort of vista that seemed to fill your lungs — stiflingly sweet as you took it in. Here, it was hard to believe the world could ever die. People, sure. But not the earth. 

The scene was set. The light was perfect. That just left–

_ Him_.

The man emerged from the rust-colored Villa De Vecchi, shirt slightly mussed, dark hair windswept and a little wet from the fog. He hesitated, brow furrowed, then strode toward the lake. His large, pale hands flexed at his sides, disturbing the long, black greatcoat he wore over his shirt and trousers. It fluttered against his muddied boots.

The ground squelched under his step as he approached the lake’s edge. He didn’t get too close — the reeds were too high, and so was the wind. It rattled them; their soft song rippling over the water. 

He paused, looking around — almost as if he heard something else wandering over the waves–

“Cut!”

Rey blinked, dropping the stone she’d been thumbing. 

The man — _ Ben Solo _ — paused. The command came from their director, Hollywood legend Luke Skywalker. 

Ben shook his head, then looked to Luke — who was saying something to a PA — then, surprisingly, his eyes found hers.

She flinched as his gaze swept over her, appraising. He looked as haughty as his character — or as haughty as she imagined all 19th century Counts had probably been. 

She frowned, and he turned back to Luke. She stooped to pick up the stone, slipping it into her pocket.

“Again?” Ben asked. His tone was as terse as the straight line of his mouth. 

“Yes,” Luke said, swiveling back toward him in his chair, “the light is perfect, but the wind is a bit high. Finn and the other sound techs want to be sure we’re covered.” 

Ben nodded, glanced at her again, and then turned to make his way back inside the Red House. 

She left just a few minutes later. Suddenly, watching today’s sides didn’t seem so appealing.

~•~

“And then he looked at me like I was something he’d stepped in! Just because I came to watch a bit of the shoot before setting up for tomorrow. I don’t know what his problem is.”

Poe rolled his eyes, patting one of his freshly cleaned makeup brushes dry. 

“Come on, Rey, you’re not that naive. He’s probably into you,” he said.

Rey spluttered, face hot. Because it was _ ridiculous_.

“Yeah, sure, international superstar Ben Solo is into _ me_,” she quipped, “Street rat turned scavenger.”

Poe frowned.

“Those scavenging skills came in handy in engineering school, didn’t they?” he asked, shaking another brush. “And now look at you. You’re one of the best practical effects specialists in the biz. Why do you think The Resistance keeps hiring you?”

She spluttered a little more. This time, her face felt hot from kindness.

“And anyway,” he cut her off, “Ben isn’t like that.”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like how you’re trying to paint him,” Poe said, “_ Snobby_. Sure, he’s a little, well…socially awkward, but he’s a good guy. And he’s been through more than people know.”

“I always forget you’ve known him a long time,” Rey said, “since you were kids, right?”

“Yup,” Poe said, popping the ‘P’ with extra emphasis as he looked at himself in the mirror. He held up a pretty pink lip color. “This would look gorgeous on you; you should try it.” 

“I’ll take your word for it,” Rey said, smiling. “But thanks.” 

She glanced out of the makeup trailer door’s overhead window. If she squinted, she could just make out a mop of dark hair winding its way back towards today’s set. Considering he towered over everyone else, it was pretty easy to spot him. 

“Still, you didn’t hear him when we met — completely dismissive of what’s probably the single most important scene in the film–”

“Was Luke there?”

“Yeah, why?” Rey asked. Poe paused, then shrugged.

“Never mind. Anyway, it’s his first time doing something like this; as acclaimed as some of the more recent genre films have been, the studio is still breathing down everyone’s necks. Highly stylized gothic horror isn’t usually very commercially or critically successful, and everyone, including Ben, knows he’s the draw. Plus, Luke is particular, too. There’s a lot of pressure on all of us to get this right.”

“That’s true,” Rey admitted. “But we’re all in this together. Would it kill him to be polite?”

Poe chuckled. “Maybe he’s in _ character_. Anyway, you’re talking about him a lot. You sure you’re not the one with the crush?”

Rey’s mouth snapped shut. For the third time, she had trouble stringing a reply together.

“I wasn’t–”

Poe laughed, and she scowled at him.

“You’re even prettier when you blush this much, Sunshine,” he teased. He looked back at himself in the mirror, holding up the pink tube to compare against his skin. 

“If you’re not trying this, I might for my next show. Think your boy Finn would like it?”

Rey smiled and nodded, happy for the subject change. After all, she didn’t need to worry about Ben Solo until tomorrow.

Even so, she couldn’t help watching for that mop of dark hair any time her eyes strayed toward the trailer window. 

~•~

“How many times are we going to have to do this?”

Rey did her best to keep her expression neutral, but it was very, _ very _ difficult. She kept fidgeting with her equipment in an attempt to distract herself from the blatant unprofessionalism currently on display.

She’d expected Ben to be difficult to work with, and so far, she’d been spot on. 

She hadn’t expected _ Luke _ to be even worse.

The scene itself was simple but crucial — Ben’s character, the Count de Vecchi, killed himself after being tormented by the ghosts of his dead wife and daughter. It involved rigging animatronics to believably interact with him before he fled into the villa gardens, then drowned himself in the lake. There were actors that played the ghosts, but they’d film their part in a studio back in the States.

Luke hadn’t wanted to shoot the scene on a soundstage; opting instead to travel to Cortenova, where the real Count had once lived. Authenticity aside, it made the entire shoot — and this shot in particular — more difficult. The villa was ancient and abandoned, and they were limited in what they could do to the site by the Italian Historical Preservation Society. 

It also didn’t help that the locals still thought the place was haunted. They called it the _ Red House _ — for its blood-hued, burnt exterior.

“Again,” Luke said, “We’re not there, yet, Ben. _ Patience _.”

It wasn’t what he said; it was how he said it — each word so clipped and condescending Rey could _ feel _ them. Little punctuated punches.

Ben looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. His eyes roved around the room — crowded with crew and cameramen who’d already heard them argue for the better part of the past three hours — and gave a jerky nod. His eyes met hers before he turned to find his mark.

She set her controller, ready for Luke’s call, but just then another PA appeared and muttered something in his ear. Rey watched the girl — Connix, if she remembered right — point outside of the villa’s dilapidated walls before Luke waved her away.

“We’ve lost the light for the drowning scene, and I’d prefer we get that quickly since you’ll have to get back into hair and makeup for any reshoots,” he said, addressing Ben. Sighing, he raked his nails through his beard.

“That’s a wrap for today, everybody. Go get some grub. I hear the pasta’s good.” 

A few members of the crew chuckled, and some of the simmering tension dissipated the same as the crowd. Rey watched Ben approach Luke out of the corner of her eye as she started packing up.

“I think we’ve got it.”

“I’m not so sure,” Luke said lightly. “I told you, you’re... _ stilted_, less emotionally expressive than you need to be. We’re not connecting with you.”

Rey didn’t agree. She was a fan of Ben’s work (before meeting him, anyway), and thought one of his strengths as an actor was his vulnerability. How expressive he was. 

Especially his eyes. Not that she noticed.

Ben cleared his throat.

“It’s this place,” he ground out, glancing overhead, “it’s oppressive. It feels..._ wrong_.”

“I would’ve thought you’d blame effects in lieu of another actor to play off of,” Luke said. Rey froze, then immediately started packing her cart more quickly. She didn’t want them to realize she could hear them.

“I don’t love that either and you know it,” Ben said. He shifted slightly, turning his back towards her. “But that’s not my choice. Or theirs.”

“That’s right, it’s not,” Luke agreed, “When you direct, you can do whatever the hell you want.” He snatched up a pea-colored protein shake next to his chair, turning to go. “There’s always an excuse, Ben. Get it together or we’ve got another long day tomorrow.”

~•~

Rey took a deep breath, raised her arm, and then plunged headfirst into the abyss of certain awkwardness.

Hesitantly, she knocked on Ben Solo’s trailer door.

He surprised her when he answered immediately.

“Uncle L–” he cut himself off, surprise quirking his brows as he huddled in a doorway a smidge too small for him. He stared at her, then swallowed. “Rey?”

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s me. Niima. Rey Niima, I mean. I just wanted to stop by and–”

“I know your name,” Ben interrupted. 

She fell silent. She’d debated over dinner whether or not to seek him out; in that time, he’d changed out of his costume, maybe even showered, judging by his damp hair. 

It was strange to see him in a plain t-shirt and jeans. Somehow, street clothes made him look even more massive. 

Probably just the trailer granting him a few extra feet. 

“Right,” she said, “Thanks. Um, anyway, I just wanted to stop by and talk about tomorrow.”

“Oh,” he said. He gripped the doorway, knuckles white. “Did you... want to come in?”

Rey fiddled with the stone in her pocket, turning it over and over, over and over. She nodded. 

“Sure. Thank you.”

He stepped back, allowing her entry. When she reached up to grab the little stair railing, he grabbed her hand, gently helping her up. 

Her face _ burned_. It kept burning even after he dropped her hand the second she stepped inside.

The trailer was tidy. Minimalistic, even. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected — maybe something more ostentatious or eccentric — but, as Poe had intimated, she didn’t really know anything about Ben Solo aside from a few credits on his IMDB page. 

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, hovering near a mini-fridge near the back. 

“Oh, no thank you,” she said, “I just got back from dinner with some of the crew. I hope I’m not disrupting yours.”

He shook his head, gesturing for her to sit. She did, picking a pristine gray couch. He followed suit, sitting across from her in a matching armchair.

“So,” Rey started.

“So.” Ben’s fingers twitched atop his chair’s arm. “What did you want to talk about for tomorrow?”

“Well,” Rey said, “I just, uh, wanted to say that, if you think it would help, I could chat with Luke.”

“Why?”

“To tell him I think we’ve got the shot,” she said. She tore her gaze away from his fingers, focusing back on his eyes.

He said nothing. She cleared her throat.

“I was thinking, I could ask Rose — Rose Tico, from visual effects — to drop by, too, and maybe overlay a little bit of the CG she’s been working on for you two to watch? If nothing else, it might help to see something closer to the final.”

The silence stretched for another few painful moments before Ben spoke.

“What makes you think Luke would listen to you?”

Rey’s brows shot straight up. 

“I don’t know,” she said, “I was hoping– ”

“You were hoping he’d be as receptive as Leia,” Ben interrupted her again. He leaned forward a little, still watching her. “He won’t be.”

Rey bristled but said nothing. She just stared back, unsure of how to respond. Too affronted to think of the right words. So she stood.

“Well, I guess I should– ”

Ben’s eyes softened, and he held up a hand.

“No, no. Sit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so…Sit. Please.”

She hesitated, then obliged.

“Sorry,” he said again, “I shouldn’t have said it like that. I just — I know you’ve worked with The Resistance on a few other projects in the past, so I guessed. But Luke isn’t Leia. He– ” he cleared his throat again, “ –well, let’s just say that in my experience, they deal with conflict very differently.”

“How so?” Rey asked.

Ben bit the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t something she’d ever seen him do before, on film or otherwise. It emphasized his jaw; the planes of his face, drawing her eyes to his lips. 

“Leia thinks she can solve anything, whereas Luke never thinks he might be part of the problem.”

“What about you?” Rey asked.

He frowned.

“I’m always part of the problem.”

Rey’s eyebrows rose in surprise — and confusion — again. He let out something halfway between a grunt and a sigh.

“I just mean that it’s always the actor’s problem if a director or a producer isn’t happy with their performance. That’s our job.”

“I guess that’s true,” Rey agreed, still fidgeting. She’d stopped turning the stone over and over; instead, she’d started swirling a thumb against its smooth side. “But the same is true for all of us, you know. That’s why I’m trying to help.”

“I appreciate that, but in this case, I don’t think there’s much you can do.”

Again, Rey didn’t know what to say to that. So she opted for humor.

“Maybe it’s the ghost.”

It was Ben’s turn to look surprised.

“Ghost?”

A smile played at Rey’s lips.

“Yeah, a ghost. The villa is haunted, right? Maybe it’s the ghost of the Count causing all this anxiety.”

Ben stared at her for another second, then burst into deep, hearty laughter — like thunder. The sound tickled the back of her neck, giving her goosebumps, and her smile grew wide.

“Doubt it,” he said.

“Why not?” Rey asked. “I can see it now — pissed off ghost, possessing Luke to make sure you do him justice.”

“Ghosts aren’t real,” Ben said. The laughter died as fast as he’d let out. “Not that kind, anyway.” 

Somehow the second half of his sentence felt wearier than the first, but she chose not to fixate on that.

“You don’t think so?” she asked. “You said yourself it felt _ off _ in there.”

“You heard that?” he asked, gaze suddenly hyper-focused on her. She shrugged, but didn’t look away.

“I say we go check it out,” she said. “See if we can suss out this ghost. Give him a little talking to.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ben deadpanned.

“Of course I am!” Rey said, smiling. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be inspiring.” 

“It’s after dark,” Ben said, nodding toward the trailer door window. 

“Are you scared, Mr. Solo?” she asked. “I thought you didn’t think there was a ghost?”

“Call me Ben,” he said. His dark eyes felt heavy on her skin. “And I don’t.”

Rey stood again.

“Dare you to prove me wrong.”

~•~

“See? Nothing.” Ben tapped the flashlight button on his iPhone, flooding the room with light. 

They were back where they’d been just a few hours earlier — in the Great Hall, one of the few rooms left of Count Vecchi’s summer home. If not for all of the crew’s abandoned equipment taking up space (well, that and the artificial beam Ben was wielding) they might’ve stepped back in time.

After Ben had agreed to Rey’s dare, they’d trudged up to the villa alongside the lake, both careful not to bump into each other along the way. 

Or, at least, Rey had been. She couldn’t speak for Ben.

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” Rey asked in a hushed voice, peering up at the ceiling. Even though she’d barely raised her voice above a whisper, her words still echoed in the gloom overhead.

“It’s just a house,” Ben said, coming to stand beside her. 

Close, but not touching. She could flex her fingers and brush his thigh. The thought made her face feel hot again.

“Not according to the locals,” she said. “Though I’m sure you knew that already.”

He gave her a sideways glance.

“What makes you think that?”

She shrugged.

“I figured you researched your roles, that’s all. You’re here, so why not ask around?”

His lip twitched again. Almost like he’d wanted to smile.

“Good point,” he agreed. “Well, you’re right. I did some digging. A necessary evil.”

“Necessary evil?” Rey asked.

He looked away. Carefully, he lifted his arm, letting the light sweep across the rest of the Great Hall — over the massive, sweeping staircase in the center; the pianoforte off to the side, dusty and dank; the grand, gilded fireplace on the other end… 

“I’m not great at…social situations. Least of all in Italian.”

“Oh,” Rey said. “Well, I did, too. Some digging around, I mean.”

The beam of light paused, and his eyes found hers in the dark.

“You speak Italian?” 

“A bit,” she said. “I lived with an Italian family in England for a while when I was young. Foster family. Anyway– ” she coughed, the musty air creeping and curdling down her throat, “ –I found out some interesting things. Did you know that the deaths here didn’t start with the Count’s wife and daughter?”

Ben nodded. “The architect.”

“Yes! Under mysterious circumstances, apparently, but the Count still moved in with his family less than a year later,” Rey continued, “And, then, well…”

“The film is fairly accurate to the rumors,” Ben said, answering the question she hadn’t voiced, “but it’s because there isn’t much else to go on, not some loyalty to accuracy.”

“But Luke– ”

Ben chuckled, but it sounded bitter.

“That’s probably _ why _ Luke wrote it.” In the dim light, she could just see his mouth twist into something sour. “He gets to pretend the Count was the hero.”

“You think he killed his wife and daughter?”

He glanced sideways at her again. 

“Who else?”

“I don’t know…” she trailed off. She looked away, eyes finding the fireplace. Despite Ben’s steady hand, the iPhone’s dead light looked like it was shivering over each intricate detail, too white and shaky. As she watched, Ben started moving again, casting the glow across the rest of the room — over the fogged up windows; the scratched, scuffed stone underfoot; their equipment casting shadows.

Trepidation slunk low in her stomach, coiling like a snake.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” he repeated.

His voice sounded soft; too quiet while her insides squiggled. She frowned, shifting just a bit closer to him.

“Can’t you feel it?” she whispered. 

Ben opened his mouth to reply–

_ THUNK. _

They both jumped. 

“What the fu– ”

Something soft and tinkling and tinny erupted from the gloom, halting his words — growing and growing, louder and louder from across the room.

“Music,” Rey whispered. Without thinking, she huddled close to Ben, latching on to his arm. It was tight with tension under hers. “It’s the piano.”

Ben raised his other arm again, pointing the light at the pianoforte.

There was…_ something _ sitting there.

Rey’s heart seemed to stutter, then pitch in the pit of her stomach. From across the Hall, it…looked like a person, or, at least, it was shaped like one, but it was hard to see. 

Was she gripping Ben too hard, or the stone in her pocket? Either way, her fingers felt numb.

“Ben,” she whispered, “Let’s leave. Now.”

He looked down at her. For a second, surprise flitted across his face. 

“It’s a joke,” he insisted. “Though clearly not by you.” 

He took a step forward, and she let him drag her along. She wasn’t about to let him go. 

“Hux, is that you?” 

The thing didn’t turn. The music played on, slippery and sliding across the stone floor, filtering up into their ears. Beautiful — if she’d been able to think straight. 

Ben (and Rey) took another few steps forward. Closer, and closer. The thing still didn’t turn, but she could see it better, now: definitely human-shaped, draped in silk… From head-to-toe, almost like a child pretending to be a ghost, but — different. Darker. _ Dripping_.

“Hux, I know that’s you,” Ben growled. He’d seen it, too.

“Let’s just go,” Rey whispered. She tugged on his arm, but he shrugged her off.

“This isn’t fucking funny,” he growled, striding over to the figure. He didn’t even hesitate as he snatched at the fabric —

“Ben, don’t!”

Too late.

The thing turned before he could touch it, and Rey could see it’s face: a human one, but eyeless, mouth round and gaping, sucking, covered, suffocated by the sheet — until the sheet streamed away, fluttering to the floor. 

The keys kept clinking. The sound swelled; the music growing louder still, but nothing sat there playing it. There was nothing underneath the sheet. 

Nothing at all.

Ben backed away slowly, feet shuffling with fear, and she reached for him again — grabbing his arm before he could bolt without her.

“Let’s go,” she repeated, voice soft, but firm. He tore his gaze away from the instrument to look at her. He swallowed, then nodded. 

“Carefully,” she said, still holding his eyes, “Quietly.”

He nodded again, and they started to back away toward the front doors.

The thing — whatever it was, if it was still there, if it’d ever been there at all, if they weren’t twisted together in some strange, cruel prank, or some kind of nightmare — kept playing. 

Step after step. Slow and steady until they reached the exit.

When they were only a few feet away, Rey squeezed Ben’s forearm. They both paused.

“On the count of three, we turn and leave,” she whispered. “Together.”

He squeezed her back. “Of course.”

She let out a sigh of relief, feeling shakier than she ever had in her life. “One,” she breathed.

“Two.”

“Three!”

She hadn’t meant to shout, but her rising panic pushed it. Together, they spun, seeking the way out–

_ SLAM_.

Simultaneously, the front doors slammed shut in their faces. 

The music stopped playing.

Jolted, they turned to look at each other, breathing hard. Ben caught her hand, then–

“Run.”

They did. 

They streaked across the hall, bypassing the grand staircase, avoiding the pianoforte, slipping through one of the hall’s many doorways into a cramped corridor.

“This way,” Rey panted, now dragging him.

“Do you know where you’re going?” he asked. He glanced over his shoulder, but nothing followed them.

That they could see, anyway.

“Sort of,” she muttered, “Even though we weren’t granted access to the whole villa, I asked to study the most recent surveyor’s report. To assess our electrical needs for my equipment, among other things.” 

She took a sharp left down another musty hallway, pulling Ben with her. They didn’t stop. She resisted the urge to keep looking behind them, instead squinting forward in the darkness as they sucked in the dank air. Ben’s iPhone hung limp in his free hand, still lit.

“I think the rear exit is this way,” she muttered, “Into the gardens, near the other side of the lake. Should we try calling someone?”

“Good idea,” Ben agreed, thumbing at the phone screen before raising it to his ear. She didn’t hear a dial tone. Her insides wriggled as she waited for him to say the inevitable– 

“No signal.”

Rey set her jaw, then clutched his hand harder, making sure he was following as they wound their way to the other side of the villa.

“Hurry, then. We’re almost there.”

A few more twists and turns before they emerged into what must’ve been the kitchen, once. Ruined and rotting, now, but that didn’t matter so much when she spotted what had to have been the servant’s entrance — open to the world outside, with greenery creeping along the walls and ground, forcing its way into the dead and dying house. 

“There,” she said, pointing at it, “The door must’ve rotted away.”

“Let’s go,” Ben said. His grip tightened on her hand as they stepped closer–

A shadow fell over the threshold of the exit. They froze.

The shadow stirred, solidified. Stepped forward — into the house.

A man’s shadow, deep blue and wet and shining, slunk forward. Each step left a stain on the stone. He was faceless, like the thing in the Great Hall, though not covered in cloth. His face was covered by wet, stringy black hair, blue lips opening and closing like a fish on land.

“The Count,” Rey whispered. It was all she could do; terror seemed to be paralyzing every inch of her, minus her mouth.

“Run!” Ben shouted, grabbing at her, pulling her away again. She obeyed, and they fell back into the dark, labyrinthine corridors, not bothering to pay attention to where they were going this time — the man was behind them, the drowned, dead Count–

“There,” Ben said, voice rough from running, “There’s light ahead.”

It was that light that led them, drew them in, like moths to a flame — and that’s what they found when they burst into the atrium, flanked by stone pillars and built in the center of the villa: flames dancing under an open sky. 

A bonfire. A hearth. 

They stopped at the edge of it, panting. Ben bent over, clutching his knees, while Rey rubbed at a stitch in her side, peering around.

Strangely enough, the fire felt cold.

“Is there someone here? Help us!”

A low chuckle. Then, a girl slipped from the shadows surrounding the fire, spilling into the night the way ink seeped into a page. 

Dark hair soaked in something red surrounded her small face, which she’d painted with mud to form crude symbols across her forehead, cheeks, lips. The dress she wore covered her from neck to bare foot; dark green and dangling with animal bones, stones and other earth litter. In her hand, she carried a stick — mossy, gnarled, shaking with feathers and beads and more bones, one bird skull. 

As she stepped forward, both Rey and Ben took a step back.

“Help you?” the girl asked. She smiled; her teeth were black with dirt and grime. “I’m afraid that’s what my parents were _ trying _ to do, but of course, they can’t do much of anything anymore.”

She laughed again, taking another step closer, and another woman wearing similar garb appeared behind her, to her right, stalking forward from her night’s cover. 

Together, Ben and Rey continued backing away.

“Your…parents?” Ben asked. The second word came out strangled.

“What do you mean?” Rey cut in, careful to keep her eyes on the second woman still creeping closer. “Who are you?”

“They named me Tazia,” the girl said, jerking her head toward the house, “One who will be reborn.” Her smile widened. “They didn’t know how right they were.”

“You aren’t…” Rey trailed off. Her eyes darted to the surrounding stone walls of the villa; of the ghosts who’d barred their way outside. To this girl. To this… 

Another woman materialized to the girl’s left, grinning something wicked.

“I go by a new name now,” the girl said, still smiling, “Talzin. Nightsister.”

“_ Casa Delle Streghe_,” Rey murmured. “House of Witches.”

The three women bellowed with laughter. The sound echoed into the night, booming and bearing down on the flickering flames — behind them, now. They were getting closer and closer.

“She’s a clever scavenger,” croaked the witch to the left, “Else she might not have picked up our crystal.”

“Indeed,” smarmed Talzin. “And we’re ripe for a new recruit to our coven.”

“You’re not touching her,” Ben spat.

The girl set her eyes on him. Rey took strange satisfaction in seeing her crane her neck to look into his eyes.

“It’s no concern of yours,” she said, voice cold, “We need no broken men, save for slaves and sin.” Her smile returned. “The orphan is ours. She belongs with us.”

“You killed them, didn’t you?” Rey asked. “The Count and his wife…If you’re their daughter, then it had to be you.”

“_ Mother first, then sweet father next_,” sang the witch, “Of course I killed them. And now, they haunt this place, driving any away who I and my sisters might snatch under the moonlight.” She raised her head to the sky, breathing in deep. “But underneath the stars…Near our Waters of Life…we thrive.”

She lowered her head, meeting Rey’s eyes.

“Now. Give me the crystal.”

A beat of sticky, stifling silence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rey said. She could still feel Ben next to her, warm and _ there_, and so many other things stirred alongside the fear in her gut — regret, shame, relief, gratitude. 

“You found it,” Talzin said, “When you came here. It _ called _ to you, little Scavenger.”

“What’s she talking about?” Ben muttered under her breath. 

“It’s just a stone,” Rey insisted, snaking her hand into her pocket to pull it out, “Just a stone I found by the lake.” 

She held it up. It looked like an ordinary stone, apart from the way it shimmered, slightly, with a greenish hue.

“Give it here, girl,” Talzin said, holding out a claw-like hand, “Give it here, and I will gift you what you seek.”

“Let us leave, then,” Rey demanded.

Talzin grinned again, pausing her step. Her two sisters stilled, too.

“That’s not what you _ want_, little Scavenger, no, no. I can sense your heart.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Rey said.

“Oh, but we do,” said the witch the right, cackling. “Or the crystal ought not to have called to you!”

“Indeed,” Talzin said, bowing her head in reverence before looking back up at Rey. “You seek belonging, sweet little Scavenger. A _ family_, to replace the one who tossed you away. I _ know _ how that feels. I had to find my true family, too.” 

She turned black eyes toward Ben, and an ugly look passed over her face. 

“This one doesn’t know. This one spurns a family that loves him. Make him your slave, if you must, but he has proven he can’t give you what you _ need _.” Her eyes flickered back to Rey. “We can.”

Rey could hear Ben’s breath in her ear coming in quick bursts. She knew it was impossible, but she felt like she could his heart, too — racing. Running.

But he still was here. With her.

Her gaze flickered to the flames.

“Darkness swirls between you both,” Talzin continued, “but we have no use for him. Abandon him; join us. You can’t save him.”

She took another step closer. She was just a few feet away, now. Behind her and her sisters, the fire blazed, crackling and crinkling into the night.

Rey sucked in a breath, clutching the stone tight in one hand, Ben’s arm with her other.

“Wanna bet?”

The witch’s smile faded, confusion clouding her face before Rey raised her hand and lobbed the crystal straight into the flames. 

She’d had no idea what to expect. No way of knowing what could happen. She’d just _ reacted_, operated on instinct, that will to survive she knew better than anything else, knew as herself.

And, thankfully, it worked.

The stone screamed as it crisped to ash, and the flames fell over, green and crying, into the atrium — crawling and creeping up each witch, burning and _ dying_. 

Now they were the ones screaming.

“Run!” 

Rey screamed, too, and Ben didn’t need telling twice. They fled, back into the villa, back through the winding corridors, back into the dank, desolate hall, and there, the Count and his wife waited.

The flames followed them; Rey could feel their heat, now, and she knew the whole building would be gone soon, but still, they paused upon seeing both ghosts flanking their exit.

It was Ben who was brave enough to step forward. 

The Count bowed his head, still dripping lake water, and the doors creaked open.

“Come on,” Ben whispered. He grabbed her hand again, and they walked across the threshold.

They kept walking until they heard the double doors shut behind them; until they were a good ways away; until the sound of the building burning filled their ears. It was only then that they turned around to watch it all crumble into ash.

“So.”

Ben glanced at her. She gave him a weak smile.

“Still don’t believe in ghosts?”

~•~

“If you’re coming to tell me what you’ve lost, Niima, you can send an itemized list to Connix.”

Rey shook her head. It was a few days later, and she’d come to knock on Ben’s trailer again — only to find him hanging in the doorway, talking to Luke.

“No, sir,” she answered, glancing at Ben, who looked…well, _ pleased_. She hadn’t expected that. “I dropped by to talk to Ben.”

“Did you now?” Luke asked, beard quirking. “Well, that’s…Anyway, submit your damage report to Connix. Thank god for insurance.” He sighed.

“Will do, sir,” Rey said. He nodded, climbing down Ben’s trailer’s steps, shuffling past her before turning back around.

“See you later, Ben,” he said, voice strangely soft.

“Sure thing,” Ben rumbled back. Luke turned to go–

“Good thing you got the shot, huh?” Rey couldn’t help herself. Luke looked back at her, and for a moment, she thought he might shout at her — it hadn’t been an easy few days — but he smiled.

“Good thing.”

With that, he left, combing through the myriad trailers still situated in the Northern Italian countryside, now all packed and ready to leave. 

“What brings you here?” Ben asked, stepping out of the doorway. His eyes didn’t leave hers and he climbed down the steps, sitting on one so they were closer to eye level.

“Uh, just wanted to check on you,” Rey said. She shrugged. It was a lie — the truth was, she wanted to say goodbye. “What was that about? Didn’t seem like he was still on your case.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Ben said, crossing his arms over his knees, “In fact, we were making plans to meet up with my mom and dad before we all head back to L.A. Little family vacation.”

Rey’s eyes widened.

“Family vacation?” she asked. “You mean– ?”

Ben gave her a sheepish grin.

“I forget that not everyone knows,” he said, “Luke is my uncle. Leia is my mom.”

“I am so stupid,” Rey said, covering her face with her hands.

Gently, Ben pried her hands away from her face, taking them into his own. When he didn’t let them go, Rey blushed. She’d been doing that a lot lately.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “I was hoping you’d stop by. Saved me from having to find you and probably have to deal with Poe.”

Rey chuckled.

“True, true. Why did you want to find me?” she asked.

“I know you’re heading back to L.A. I wanted to catch you first…Talk. About everything.”

“I’m not sure we need to talk about the things we saw, Ben. I– ”

“That’s not what I meant,” he interrupted her, “I meant…About the things she said. About you. About me. About what you want. What you need.”

Rey drew in a sharp breath.

“She didn’t know anything.”

“She did,” Ben said, lowering his head, looking at their intertwined hands, “About me, anyway. Hence the family vacay.” He looked back up at her, flashing her another brief, almost sad smile.

“I’m not asking you to tell me everything or confirm anything,” he continued, “I’m just asking if you’d…Well, if you’d let me prove her wrong.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked.

“About me,” he said. “Not being able to give you what you need. I could. I can.” He pulled her closer, holding her hips between his knees, glancing down at her lips. “I’d like to try. If you’d let me.”

Rey’s face felt hot. Again. _ Goddamnit_.

“After all, I _ did _ accept your dare,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah, but I turned out to be right,” she teased.

“Dinner’s on me, then,” he said. One of his hands found her hip; the other, her face. “What do you say?” He bit his lip, studying her. “Are you scared?”

Rey shook her head, then leaned into him, cupping his cheek.

“Definitely not.”

They sealed the deal with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Some fun facts about this fic I hope you’ll enjoy…
> 
> **[Villa de Vecchi is real.](https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/villa-de-vecchi)** From my source: Just east of Lake Como, nestled against the forested mountains of Cortenova, sits a house that’s said to be haunted. Villa De Vecchi, alternately nicknamed the Red House, Ghost Mansion, and Casa Delle Streghe (The House of Witches), was built between 1854-1857 as the summer residence of Count Felix De Vecchi. Within a few short years of its completion, the house witnessed an inexplicable string of tragedies that would forever cement its gothic legacy — including many things I’ve included in this story, such as the death of the architect prior to the family moving in; the Count finding his wife brutally murdered and daughter missing, and his resulting suicide.
> 
> Today, the villa is in squalor (so realistically unlikely to be used as a set piece in a Hollywood film, but hey, Reylo!), but the legends persist — including, of course, that of the grand piano… Once said to be played at night by a ghostly entity, it’s since been smashed to pieces, though some locals claim that music can still be heard coming from the house. 👀
> 
> **[Talzin and the Nightsisters are Star Wars canon.](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Nightsisters)** From Wookieepedia: The Nightsisters, also known as the Witches of Dathomir, were a clan and order of magick-wielding females who lived on Dathomir, a planet bathed in dark energies. These Dark side users were able to perform their arcane magicks by tapping into the magical ichor that flowed from the depths of their planet. In canon, Talzin is a prominent Nightsister, eventually becoming her clan’s “Mother,” working alongside Darth Sidious, who takes her son, Darth Maul, away from her.
> 
> In canon, **[magical ichor](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Magical_ichor)**, also known as the Waters of Life or spirit ichor, was a luminescent green mist that originated in the depths of Dathomir. Soaking a kyber crystal in the ichor perverted its connection to the Force, and create a Tainted Nightsister Crystal. These crystals, if used in a lightsaber-like weapon, emitted a green smoke when active. The crystal in this story is very much a homage to that.
> 
> Finally, **[Tazia](https://www.sheknows.com/baby-names/italian-baby-names/browse/t/)** is an Italian name (abbreviated from Anastasia) that actually does mean “one who will be reborn.”
> 
> ~•~
> 
> I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing horror, Rowan, and the melding of your two prompts. Happy Reyloween!


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